Free Haunting Embrace by Erin Quinn Page B

Áedán. It was forest leaves and fresh air, sweat and passion, seduction and strength.
    He lounged carelessly back against the edge of the table, his long legs stretched out, but she knew he was alert and watching her. She glanced at his unwounded hand, where it lay lightly on his muscled thigh, long fingers brown and somehow elegant despite the many cuts and scars covering them. She had the crazy impulse to touch him as she stared into those enigmatic eyes.
    “Mr. Brady,” Colleen said, pulling a thin line through her needle and then dropping it into a cup and pouring alcohol over it. “Are you ready?”
    He nodded, settling his wounded hand on the table, fingers up. With a towel to catch the spill, Colleen splashed alcohol on his palm, making sure she’d thoroughly flushed the gash, then fished the line and needle from the alcohol, pinched the nasty cut shut, and began to sew with skilled precision. Meaghan saw Áedán’s jaw tighten, but he gave no other sign of pain. In moments, Colleen finished and tied off the knot.
    “Should have done this a bit ago,” she said. “It’s not good to wait so long before closing a wound, but there you have it.”
    She took a salve from a cupboard beneath the sink and slathered it on the red and swollen skin around the stitches before wrapping it with clean strips of cloth. Áedán said nothing through it all, but when she finished, he covered her hand with a gentle touch.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Ballagh,” he said softly.
    Colleen flushed. “You’re welcome.”
    Áedán looked like he might say more, but instead, he cast Meaghan one last glance and then he stood. In that look, she’d felt him weighing options, piecing together the jagged edges of his thoughts, and working out a way to make them fit nicely. The look became considering, and she guessed he’d reached a solution.
    His mouth quirked in a small but satisfied smile that sent a shiver down her spine. Then, without a word, he lifted his coat from the hook where Colleen had hung it, and strode from the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the front door opening and closing on the silence he left behind. Colleen stayed where she was, frozen for a moment, and then she hung her head, looking very young and lost.
    “I suppose he’s off to find Mickey,” Colleen said on an exhalation. “He’ll be at the pub, is my guess. The drink will either mellow Mickey or it will turn him into a bear. There’s no way to know which it’s to be until the deed’s done.”
    Meaghan didn’t know what to say to that. She felt angry and helpless. This was her Nana, a woman who’d sheltered Meaghan her entire life. Someone she’d shared her tears and joys with when they could be trusted to no one else. Now she wanted to console her grandmother but knew Colleen’s pride would not allow any show of sympathy.
    “Niall’s finished eating,” Meaghan said softly.
    Colleen turned and let her gaze rest on the chubby baby, who looked like he wore more of the porridge than he’d eaten, no matter how careful Meaghan had been in feeding him. He gave Colleen an elated smile, clenching his sticky fists and opening his fat fingers as he squealed with pleasure.
    “Would you like me to bathe him?” Meaghan asked.
    “Ah, that would be good of you. The tub’s right there, tucked up beneath the shelves.”
    Meaghan pulled the large metal tub from its place and set it on the table, and she and Colleen filled it with water, adding some from the pot simmering on the stove to make it warm. Niall watched with squirming curiosity.
    Colleen gave him an indulgent smile. “He does love his baths,” she said.
    Indeed, it was all Meaghan could do to get the wriggling, porridge-covered bundle out of his chair and nappy and into the tub, where he splashed with unabashed glee. Her father had been a butterball, she thought with a silent sense of hysteria. She supposed when things got so strange they could no longer be processed or viewed with any type of